


to live in love, and die

by orphan_account



Series: join the party for the recently blind [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Friends as Family, Gen, Heist AU, M/M, bambam is beauty and yugyeom is brawn, draft from 2017 picked it back up last month completed an hour ago, fucking tired bro, the pairing is actually implied, these bitches ain't dating, youngjae counts the cash, yugbam are brains and brawn, yugbamjae is superior shut up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Bambam hasn’t moved since he opened his eyes, which means he’s thinking.Yugyeom, on the other hand, won’t shut the fuck up.





	to live in love, and die

(Even back when they lived in the group home, Bambam was always the one who’d been underestimated. Everyone was afraid of Yugyeom and how fast he ran and how hard he hits, the permanent bruised knuckles he had and the blood on his split lip every other day. Youngjae was never threatening, but everyone was always intimidated by how he never talked but seemed to know everything about everyone. Bambam was small, cat-like eyes sharper than a blade against stone, and he used to curl into himself so he’d take up as less space as possible.

 

Youngjae was nineteen when Bambam had made a plan to steal an antique painting from the founder of a jewelry empire during a party. He didn’t think it would work, but Bambam emerged from the party with the briefcase and asked him if he’d like to eat takeout since they could finally afford it now. Yugyeom had been behind him, and he’d grinned fondly when Youngjae had held up the painting to inspect it in the van and breathed out a soft, barely audible, “ _ Fuck _ , you two actually did it,” at them.

 

“No, hyung,” Bambam said, and when Youngjae had looked up at him, the light from the streetlamp outside had caught in his bleached hair and the pupils of his eyes. “ _ We _ did it. The three of us.”

 

For a moment, there was just the silence, Youngjae watching Bambam and Yugyeom from his spot in the car, Bambam and Yugyeom watching him from outside with mirrored expressions of fondness on their faces.

 

“I like that,” Yugyeom finally said. He always did look more peaceful when he went a day without anyone.

 

And that was that. Youngjae had shut the briefcase with a resonating click, Yugyeom and Bambam had gotten into the van, and they’d driven off before anyone saw them. A week later, they’d sold the painting for triple the cost and dived headfirst into the life of crime.

 

None of them had looked back.)

* * *

 

 

According to Bambam, the job is going to be the easiest one they’ve ever pulled off.

 

The client contacts them a month before the job itself, providing exact details of the items he needs, and a day after price negotiations and the advance payment, they’ve got the blueprints of the area and the security details in their hands. Bambam comes up with a plan, drawing on the board with a variety of different chalks he keeps in a bear mug, writing messy scribbles as he explains as if either Yugyeom or Youngjae could make sense of a single word he’s writing. Youngjae deals with the money, counting out every bill that comes with the advanced payment and making sure they haven’t been scammed out of anything. Yugyeom deals with the weapons, polishing guns and picking out ammo and sharpening knives. The job is ordinary and doesn’t require them to do anything special.

 

Bambam’s plan is simple: he’ll go in, posing as an invitee of the party held to celebrate the engagement of a rich, phony couple and sneak onto the second floor where he’ll enter the study, (fourth door to the left of the corridor), and steal the flashdrive from where it’s hidden. At the same time, Yugyeom will knock out a security guard, steal his uniform, and stand guard outside the study in case anyone comes sniffing around. Youngjae will stay outside the venue and keep in contact until the mission was done and over. Then they’d go home, have sex until someone ends up yawning (Youngjae) or breaks the bed (Yugyeom) or gets hungry (Bambam) and fall asleep.

 

It’s routine. Easy. They’ve done this shit so many times that Youngjae doesn’t have any reservations about reading a comic or two in his spare time, or streaming MuCore while waiting for either one of his friends to check back in with him, usually to ask some stupid detail they easily could have known if they bothered reading the files.

 

Until, of course, shit hits the fan in the worst way possible.

 

An hour into the job, someone had flung open the van, taken advantage of the fact that Youngjae couldn’t scream, and knocked him out with a syringe to the neck. He’d woken up in flashes after that, and all he can remember is inhaling the scent of Bambam’s expensive cologne mingled with sweat, and the blood on the side of Yugyeom’s head.

 

Now they’re sitting in what’s either the police interrogation room or another powerful man’s torture basement. The room is completely bare save for the desk in front of them and the chairs they’re tied to, and the glass panel on the wall across from them is completely black. He’s been thrown to the wolves, hunted by them at the very least, and he genuinely can’t tell if he wants it to be the cops or a corrupt asshole with a tendency to torture contract workers and too much time on his hands. 

 

Bambam hasn’t moved since he opened his eyes, which means he’s thinking.

 

Yugyeom, on the other hand, won’t shut the fuck up.

 

“Jesus,  _ fuck _ , my fucking head  _ hurts  _ like a fucking  _ bitch _ ,” he mutters, wincing. He’s still in the turtleneck and the long coat all the security guards wore at the party, but there’s a bruise on his knuckles that shouldn’t be there and a cut on the left side of his cheek that looks small but deep. He’d probably been hit on the head with something, or maybe he’d put on a fight when he’d been grabbed. “Fucker got me  _ good. _ A fucking baseball bat to the head.  _ Unfair _ .”

 

_ Fucker  _ in this context is probably the asshole who abducted them, but the blood on Yugyeom’s knuckles tells him that he’d have at least broken his nose. Youngjae hadn’t gotten a single hit on whoever had taken him, so he’s glad that at least one of them had.

 

“There are four locks on the door.” Bambam’s tone is mild, words quiet and barely audible, but the way his fingers are turning white around the arms of the chair tells Youngjae that his brain is running at its full capacity. “It’ll be impossible to open them from the inside. There are no vents in the room so we couldn’t crawl out even if we wanted to.”

 

Yugyeom’s lips immediately pulled to a grimace. “Don’t say it.”

 

“So unless Youngjae-hyung and I could toss Yugyeom at the glass over there and break it,” Bambam continues, and tilts his head until it’s hanging off the back of his chair, exposing the bruises on the long column of his throat, “we’re trapped here.”

 

Trapped.

 

That’s an ugly word.

 

“Let’s wait it out,” he suggests. His arm, where the abductor had dug his nails into while dragging him out of the van, hurts like a bitch. His neck hurts too. “Maybe we can bargain and ask them to let us off in exchange of something.”

 

Bambam nods. His eyes are already shifting to the doorway, no doubt in an attempt to dissect the locks and figure out if he can get them out of there. Yugyeom just slumps in his chair and continues attempting to get the ropes off.

 

It’s clear that neither of them know what to do. For all the times they’ve almost been arrested or shot at, all the times Youngjae’s driven their shitty van through semi-crowded roads and all the times Yugyeom’s outrun anyone chasing him or Bambam has charmed his way out of a compromising position, they’ve never actually gotten caught before. 

 

“It’ll be okay,” Bambam says, after a while. His eyeliner is smudged and his cheek is bruised, like someone had backhanded him across the face, or his face had been slammed against a wall, but when his eyes lock on to Youngjae’s, he doesn’t seem scared. “I’ll get us out. Give me some time to think.”

 

The waiting game. Youngjae had never been very good at that.

 

Yugyeom, he thinks, is even worse than he is.

 

“What a fucking drag,” he mutters, an irritated twitch to his lips accompanying the words. “I’ll find whoever did this and shoot their head off their neck.”

 

“I’ll help you,” Youngjae tells him, and despite the bruises on his arm and the blood on his cheek, Yugyeom grins a little. Seeing that, Bambam smiles too.

 

It’s the first time they’ve both smiled at him since they got here. 

 

He thinks he can live, until they can smile at him outside too.

**Author's Note:**

> don't sleep on yugbamjae ,,,, just don't do that to urself


End file.
